


The Meeting of Deirdre and Naoise

by SteveLovesBucky



Category: Celtic Mythology, Deirdre of the Sorrows, Irish Mythology, Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, The Ulster Cycle
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Het Relationship, Consensual Underage Sex, Domestic Fluff, Eloping, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Fluff, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Gaelic Language, Kid Fic, Literature, Love Confessions, Prophecy, Prophetic Visions, Romance, Translation Available, True Love, Young Love, fan fiction
Language: Gàidhlig
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 20:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteveLovesBucky/pseuds/SteveLovesBucky
Summary: A retelling of how Deirdre and Naoise met; the daughter of the court storyteller of the king of Ulster, Deirdre was born under the prophecy that she would be the fairest in all Ireland, but kings and lords would go to war over her and the kingdom of Ulster would collapse. Ignoring the protests of his warriors to kill the baby, king Conchobhar of Ulster was intrigued by the description of her future beauty and wanted to be humane; he decreed that the girl would be raised in seclusion only among women and he would marry her when she reached marriageable age and avert disaster.Things did not go according to plan. Deirdre, a young woman repulsed by the aging king, had seen in a vision a handsome young warrior with raven-black hair, snow-white skin, and blood-red cheeks. She knew that this youth would be her true love. Her foster-mother and teacher, Leabharcham, said that this description matched Naoise, son of Uisneach. He was one of the finest, most fearless of Conchobhar's warriors and hunters, and an accomplished singer. Naoise and his two fiercely-loyal brothers were the finest warriors in Ireland.English translation provided after the original Gaelic.





	The Meeting of Deirdre and Naoise

**Author's Note:**

> These characters are not mine. 
> 
> An English translation immediately follows the original Gaelic.
> 
> I wanted to capture the moment that Deirdre met Naoise directly, with some artistic liberties taken. I mostly used this site as my source: [www.naoise.info/content/09-nao…](https://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?http://www.naoise.info/content/09-naoise)
> 
> Also, in Gaelic Ireland (which lasted from Antiquity until the English crushed the old order in 1603) the legal marriageable ages were 15 years for women and 18 years for men; Deirdre had supposedly just reached marriageable age and Naoise, with two presumably younger brothers, is probably about 19-21 while king Conchobhar is at least 20-25 when Deirdre was born (he already had several children by several wives and concubines) and thus he was at least 35-40 when he intended to marry her.
> 
>  
> 
> I plan to do a short series on their domestic life, because there is so little about that and so much that could be explored, especially since some stories depict them as parents of a son, Gaiar, and a daughter, Aebgreine. I'm curious about how that would look.  
> 

O chionn thug Leabharcham aithne gun deòin air Naoise na Cloinne Uisneach mar an òigear àlainn a bha Dèirdre air a faicinn ‘na bruadar, cha robh Dèirdre air a mothachamh sìth ‘sna mìosan o chionn an là gheamhraidh sin. Bha an t-Earrach air a dhùsgamh agas bha dlùth an latha gum pòsamh an rìgh Conchobhar Dèirdre.

Ach mar bu dlùithe a bha an là a’ tighinn oirre, mar bu neo-socaire a bha Dèirdre a’ fàs. Mhothaich i air mhùchamh on bhacamh don ghàrramh agas dh’iarr is a dhol a-muigh. Le caraireachd is deòir gum b’ann a bha fìora mar as trice, làimhsich i a thoirt Leabharcham a taobh ga leigeil a dhol a-mach a ghabhail cuairtean corra uair – cha ro tric no ro fhada, ach far an do mhothaich is saorsachd a chor beatha ùr innte fhad ‘s gun do bhòrc an t-Earrach uimpe.

Ged dhiùlt Leabharcham an toiseach, ghabh i truas ri Dèirdre fhad ‘s gun do dh’àrdaich an éiginn na rìbhinne. Bha Leabharcham fo iomagain gum fàsamh Dèirdre glè thinn ‘s gun coireamh an rìgh an cron oirre, agas a thuillidh bha gràdh aig Leabharcham air a ban-dalta; bha fios aice gum bitheamh e ceàrr, a dh’aindeoin na h-àithne Chonchobhair, a thoirt rìbhinn mhaiseach aoise chóig bliana deug ri fhear aosda  chrosta, eadar gun robh e ‘na rìgh no nach robh. Cóig bliana deug a dh’aois. Cha d’ràinig Dèirdre ach an aois-pòsaidh.

‘S mar sin sheachrain Dèirdre don dh’iomall na coille, far an do choinnich i na dailthean tulganach far an do dh’fheuraich an crodh agas rinn an t-sealg cùrsa agas dhanns am feur fada leis a’ ghaoith fo na craobhan fraoidhneasach agas dheàrrs e air aodann gréine. Cha robh i air tìr cho neo-sriantach a faicinn. Nochd uile rud cho saor. Agas chuala i ann an guth seinn fhir. Nair rinn Naoise ceòl math, bha i air a cluinntinn, mheudaich na bà gun cuala e an toramh-bhainne dà-fhillte, agas gun do choir neach sam bith gun cuala e am mulamh uapa agas bha ead lìonta le aoibhneas.

Agas cha do choir Dèirdre an aghaidh seo: chuala i an ceòl Naoise, agas lìon aoibhneas a cridhe, aoibhneas air nach robh i eòlach a-riadh. Agas sa’ chùis Dhèirdre, bha an aoibhneas a mhothaich i leis an fhìrinn nach robh i air a cluinntinn a-riadh fear a’ seinn agas a’ dèanadh a’ chiùil ga lìonamh. Ràinig a’ mhaise a’ chiùil gu domhain a-steach do a bith, ga drùidheamh don doimhneachd a h-anma.

Lean i an ceòl agas a dh’aithghearr chunnaic i Naoise a’ suidhe fo uinnseann mhór agas cho luath ‘s a chunnaic i e bha i eòlach air, ged cha robh i ach air a fhaicinn ‘na bruadaran. Bha fios aice gum bu chòir dhi thilleamh dhachaigh an uair sin mus chunnaic e i, ach cha b’urrainn dhi… no cha tilleamh i. Choir a sheallamh i fo gheasaibh dhrùidhteach, oir cha robh i ach air glé bheag de fhir a coinneachamh, agas b’ e a b’ mhaisiche gu mór. Phòg a fhalt tiugh an fhitich a ghuailnean móra fhad ‘s gun do choir a fheusag cuideam mór air a’ mhaise aghaidhe fearaile. Bha e àrd ‘s lùthmhor, b’urrainn dhi a fhaireachdainn, leis na muinchillean a léine air bhruthamh ris an uileann agas a ruighean a’ dearrsamh gu soilleir air aodann gréine an earraich. Ged bha fios aice air glé bheag de fhir, bha fios aice gun robh e fada na b’ dlùithe ri a h-aois fhéin na Conchobhar. Choir a ghuth crith troimhpe, bhitheamh e an cumhachd is glaine a phongan àrda no an doimhneachd shèimh, thùchanach a phongan ìsle. Ghiùlain aghaidh gruaidhean fìor-ruiteach, an imfhios an deargad ubhlan abaiche, agas bha a bhilean cho dearg ri sin ‘s bha fiamh-ghàire fhurasta aig am maothalachd làin, ged cha robh i air a faicinn fhathast. Gun robh creutair mór, féitheach air a leithid seo a’ dèanadh a’ chiùil àilne air a leithid seo, choir sin i fo gheasaibh na b’ mhotha.

Co-dhiù no co-dheth, a chlisge goirt diùid ach cuideachd daingeann, dh’fheuch i a dhol seachad air gu ciùin le a sùilean ìsle a’ smaointeachamh gum b’urrainn dhi, ‘s mathaid, dhol seachad air gun aire uaithe – ach an dòchas air rudeigin eile gu h-os ìseal.

A’ faicinn na rìbhinne seo a bhuail a maise ris, stad Naoise a sheinn agas, a’ spìonamh fhathast nan sreangan a chlàrsaich, lorg e fhéin ga coimhead. Cha robh e air a faicinn a-riadh, aig Eamhain Mhacha no àite sam bith eile. Agas bha fios soilleir aige nach fanamh rìbhinn cho bhòidheach rithe gu fada on chùirt mura biomh ann deagh-adhbhar airson sin.

Shnìomh a ciabh tiugh na meala ‘na figheachain gun d’ráinig a cruaichnean, dithis sìoman a’ dearrsamh datha mèath òr-ruadh. Bha i glé h-àrd, an ìre mhath àirde fhéin, chrutha lùthmhor, ach chunnaic e gun robh i fhathast glé h-òg. Ruadhaich a h-aghaidh àillidh, bhàn cho corcar ris an lus nam ban-sìthe ‘sna gruaidhean agas ‘sna bilean grinne, lìonta. Agas ged cha robh a sùilean móra soineanta ga choimhead, bheò-ghlac ead e le maise.  
“’Bheil mo shùilean gam mheallamh,” ghoir e, beagan pratach ‘na iongnamh, “Mur eil sin agh rìomhach a’ dol seachad.”

Cha b’àbhaist do Dèirdre chluinntinn bruidhinn air a leithid seo agas bha i shàraichte ach cuideachd air a beò-ghlacamh. Ach cha caisgeamh fearg no ùidh a gearra-ghobaich agas, ged cha do dh’amhraic i e, dh’fhreagair i ann am priobamh na sùla le:  
"’S furasta airson nan aighean a bhith cho rìomhach ‘s maiseach far nach eil ann tarbhan.”

‘Nis bha Naoise air a bheò-ghlacamh cuideachd. Ach cha robh e ‘na amadan; mus chrìochnaich i a freagairt, dh’fhairich e gu grad có a bha ise, bunaichte air na sgeulachdan gun robh e air a chluinntinn agas, a-réir, roghnaich e ath-fhreagairt gu cùramach.  
“Tha ur tarbh agaibh,” arsa e, “An tarbh a’ chóigimh Ulaidh fhéin, an Rígh Conchobhar.' 

Bha Dèirdre air a stadamh a coiseachd, ged cha robh i air a amhrac dìreach fhathast, agas dh’fhreagair i:  
“'S ma dh’fhaoidte gu bheil, ach cha toigh leam e, oir ‘s e aosda, grànnda, ‘s crosda; nam biomh an roghainn eadaraibh, nach roghnaichinn tarbh briagh òg do leithide?'

Agas le sin, thug i sùil dìreach anns na sùilean aige – dhian-amhraic a sùilean glasa gu domhain a-steach do shùilean, a bha gorma le srideagan an datha challtainn – agas dhian-amhraic i gu fada. Bhog Dèirdre balbh a-nis gun robh i air aghaidh iomlan a faicinn gu soilleir; bu Naoise cho maiseach rithe, le sùilean gun robh mar-aon borb is tlàth. 

Cha b’urrainn don dian-amhrac a bhith air ràdh a bhith ladarnas airson Dhèirdre, oir cha robh i eòlach air am fhearas-chuideachd sin oir cha robh I air a coinneachamh fear sam bith dlùth ri a h-aois. Bhruidhinn i gu h-ionraic is b’urrainn do Naoise a faicinn a treibhdhireas agas bhitheamh e ‘na bhreugaire nan teireamh e nach robh i gheasach ris, ach bha e fhathast ‘na earalas.  

“Th’ann am fhàisneachd Chatha,” arsa e, fo beagan iomagain.  
“An e gu bheil thu a’ feuchainn gam sheachnamh?” dh’fhaighnich Deirdre, oir cha cualas i a-riadh fhàisneachd a leithid seo agas choir seo dragh oirre.  
“Chan eil,” dh’fhreagair Naoise, "’S e am fhàisneachd an dhraoidh.”  
“A bheil thu gam dhiùltamh mar seo?” dh’fhaighnich i, fhathast fo iongnamh.  
“Gu dearbh, tha mi,” thuirt e cho maoth ‘s a b’urrainn dha, ged cha robh ann dòigh air a shon a chor breug-riochd air an fhìrinn. 

Cha cualas Dèirdre a-riadh an fhàisneachd Chatha. O chionn dh’innis Leabharcham dhi air Naoise air an latha gheamhraidh siud ‘s dh’ionnsaich i an dearbh-aithne am ghille seo gun do choir i fo gheasaibh ann an aoibhneas nach do mhothaich ise a-riadh ‘na beatha, bha fios aice gum feumamh i ga choinneachamh. Agas a-nis mhothaich i leòn is fearg nach do mhothaich ise ‘riadh. Bha e air a diùltamh. Ghuin deòir a sùilean ‘s, ‘na breisleach, bhuain i dreas-chùbhraidh gun chùram idir air na bioran a ghaorr a làmhan agas thilg i i ri cheann, a’ rànail:  
“Ma-tà, tha thu ‘nad tàmailt ma diùltaimh thu mi ‘nis!”

Mhulc Naoise, a’ toirt ghàire, ann am breisleach iomagaineach ach àbhachdach, gàire gun do dh’fhuaimnich na bu bhinne na chuala Dèirdre ‘riadh ged bha i cuideachd fo fearg leis. Chan fhaca Naoise a-riadh neach sam bith cho maiseach (agas oir bha e a-cheana ‘na churaidh coileanta , cha robh Naoise ‘na ùranach sa’ chùis bhan àillidh), agas b’urrainn dha fhaicinn gum b’ ise cho ghlan is fhìrinneach ‘s gum b’ ise mhaiseach ‘s thuigseach, is bhitheamh e ‘na bhreugaire nan teireamh e nach do dhrùidh an co-aonachamh sin e. Cha mhór gum b’urrainn dha a chumail a shunnd, oir bha i spéiseil dha. Ach leis a’ mhaoidheamh na fàisneachd, dé mar a b’urrainn dha a bacamh? Ag éirigh a làmhan ga dhìon fhad ‘s gun do thilg I tuillidh drisean leis na ròsan a’ crochamh ásta, cha robh e gun fhios aige idir air có a bha ise is ghlaodh e:  
“A Dhèirdre, a Dhèirdre, chan e nach toigh leam thu, ach. . .” 

Leis an aideachamh sin, ruith i ris, a’ gàireachdainn ‘s a’ caoineamh mar-aon, ach beagan fo fearg cuideachd. Ghabh i greim air a chluasan ‘na làmhan agas chrith i a cheann beagan. 

“’Seo na bidh agad ma fàgaimh thu mi,” arsa i le cudthromachd bréige, “dà cluas de fhanaid is nàire.” 

Dh’amhraic Naoise i, a’ nochdamh cho durga ‘s a nochd ise. Ach dìreach fodhan uachdar, bh’ ead a’ feuchainn a chumail am gàire. Cha tug ead an car ás a chéile ‘s thug ead gàire gu luath. Cha b’urrainn do Naoise fhéin a leasachamh, bha bualamh a’ ghaoil air leatha. Rathad-eigin, bha fios aige gum b’ ise a’ bhean cheart air a shon. Dh’éirich e a làmhan gam cor air a làmhan fhéin is thuirt e: 

“Leig ásam, a bhean!” 

Agas le sin bha ead an achlais a chéile, ach a-mhàin a chromamh air leth ás na guailnean agas a thoirt fiamh-gàire spéiseil aig a chéile. Cha do mhothaich Dèirdre cho h-aotrom le aoibhneas a-riadh; bha Naoise, ‘na òigear drùidhteach briagh a bruadair, air a gabhail mar a bhean agas bha ise ‘na ghàirdeanan-san agas esan ‘na gàirdeanan-sa. Nochd ead dearrsach ri chéile ‘nam mire.

An déidh tiota, leig Naoise mu sgaoil e fhéin agas ghabh e a chlàrsach, a’ tòiseachamh a chluiche ceòl air leth gun do nochd a thighinn ás an doimhneachd a chridhe; bha e aoibhneach ‘s mórail ‘s drùidhteach mar-aon. B’ e an ceòl a bu bhinne, a b’ drùidhtiche a rinn e a-riadh agas cha b’e ach airson Dhèirdre. Shuidh i leis, a’ seinn leis, cho-fhreagair an guthan, pongan àrda ‘s glana a’ seirm umpa, gus an tháinig a bhràithrean ga lorg. 

Nair dh’ionnsaich Ainnle agas Ardan có a bha Dèirdre ghabh uabhas ead. Agas nair dh’innis Naoise dhaibh gum gabhamh e i leis, eadar gun tigeamh ead leis no nach tigeamh, smaointich ead gun do chaill e a chiall gu h-iomlain – agas is mathaid chaill e beagan dhi. Ach, ged dh’fheuch ead a thoirt dha an taobh, cha b’urrainn dhaibh a leigeil roimhe. Bha Naoise air gaol leis an ainnir seo. Bha e air a chridhe a thoirt agas b’ e daingeann. 

“Ma-tà, ‘s léir dhomh nach leig thu romhad seo, a Naoise,” ars’ Àrdan, a bh’ a shùilean fhathast faiceallach, “Tha fios a’m gu bheil thu a’ tuigsinn na roghainne seo. Tha mi ga tuigsinn. Ach ‘s e mo bhràthair a th’annad.”

“Tha gradh agam ort, a Naoise,” ars’ Ainnle, nach mhór gun robh e na bu shine na Dèirdre, “‘S coma leam na feumaidh sinn dèanadh. Ma ‘s e ar piuthar a th’innte, mar sin bitheamh.” 

Ged bha fios gu leòr aig Ainnle a thuigsinn a’ chudthromachd, bha e fhathast òg ‘s beagan soineanta. Ghabh e tlachd luath ann Dèirdre le a h-eirmse agas a treibhdhireas, agas b’ e soilleir gun robh Àrdan ga gabhail mar charaid. “Mar sin bitheamh, gu dearbh. ‘S e mo bhràthair a th’annad agas chan eil mi an imfhios gad fhàgail.”  
“Chan eil mi nas motha,” dh’aontaich Ainnle.

Ghaolaich Naoise a dhithis bràthair, aoibhneas a’ sgaoileamh thar aghaidh, “Ur fàilte do ur piuthar-chéile!”

Choir uile seo tost buileach air Dèirdre. A’ crith le deòir sulchaire a’ cor sgleò air a radharc, phòg i ead uile gu sunndach, aon pòg glan airson Àrdan is Ainnle an urra, agas trì pògan airson Naoise.

Bha a ciad phòg le Naoise beagan mì-innealta, ach chrith i le déireach àrd-éibhneach nach do mhothaich i a-riadh. Phàirtich i ‘s Naoise frith-ghàire dhiùid, a’ faireachdainn gun spreadhamh ead le mire. Mhothaich Dèirdre blàth ‘s fuar mar-aon, a’ crith le àgh an aghaidh Naoise ‘s ruaidh ead na b’ deirge.

“Thigibh,” arsa Naoise, “Feumaidh sinn fàgail.”

“Seo!” Dh’aontaich Dèirdre, “Mus tha neach sam bith an amharas.”

 

**Translation**

Since Leabharcham unintentionally identified Naoise of Clann Uisneach as the handsome young man Deirdre had seen in her vision, Deirdre had felt no peace in the months since that winter day. Springtime had awakened and the day that king Conchobhar would marry Deirdre was near. 

But the closer the day came, the more uneasy and restless Deirdre became. She felt suffocated from the restriction of being confined to the garden and she wanted to go outside. With cunning and with tears that were most often sincere, she managed to persuade Leabharcam to allow her to go out for walks occasionally - not too often and not too far, but where she felt a freedom that breathed new life into her as springtime blossomed around her.

Although Leabharcham had refused at first, she soon relented then as Deirdre's distress increased. Leabharcham worried that she would become very ill and that the king would blame her for it, and just as much Leabharcham loved her foster daughter; she knew that, despite Conchobhar’s command, it would be wrong to give a fair maid of only fifteen years to an aging, foul-tempered man, regardless of whether he was the king. Fifteen years of age. Deirdre had only just reached marriageable age. 

So it was that Deirdre wandered to the edge of the forest, where it met the rolling plain where the cattle grazed and the hunt coursed and the long grass under the fringy trees danced with the wind and glistened in the sunshine. She had not seen such unbridled land. Everything seemed so free. And there she heard music and the singing voice of a man. She had heard that when Naoise made good music the cattle that heard him increased their milk yield twofold, and that anybody who heard him forgot their cares and troubles and were filled with joy. 

And Deirdre was not an exception: she heard Naoise's music, and joy filled her heart, a joy that she had never known. And in Deirdre’s case, the joy she felt was due as much to the fact that she had never heard a man singing, and making music to go along with it, as to anything else. The beauty of the music reached deep into her being, moving her to the very depths of her soul.

She followed the music and soon saw Naoise sitting under a great ash tree, and as soon as she saw him she knew him, though she had only ever seen him in her visions. She knew that she should return home then before he saw her, but she couldn't . . . or she wouldn't. The sight of him took her breath away, for she she had met very few men, and he was by far the most beautiful. His thick raven mane kissed his great shoulders while his beard put great emphasis on the beauty of his virile face. He was tall and muscular, Deirdre could tell, with his sleeves rolled to the elbow and his great, sinewy forearms bright in the springtime sun. While she knew few men, she knew that he was much closer to her own age than Conchobhar. His voice sent shivers through her, whether his strong yet pure high notes or the quiet, husky depths of his low notes. His pale face boasted very rosy cheeks, almost as red as a ripe apple, and his lips were as red and their full softness somehow had an easy smile, though she had yet to see it. That such a big, muscular creature was making such beautiful music enchanted her even more.

In any case, suddenly painfully shy but also determined, she attempted to pass him quietly with her eyes down thinking, maybe, she might pass without his noticing - but hoping something else, secretly. 

Seeing this maiden and struck by her beauty, Naoise stopped his singing and, still plucking the strings of his harp, found himself watching her. He had never seen her before, at Emhain Macha or anywhere else. And he knew well that a maid as fair as she would not stay long from the fort unless there was a good reason for it. 

Her thick tresses of honey twisted into plaits that reached her hips, a pair of ropes glistening a rich reddish gold. She was quite tall, almost as tall as he was, of an agile figure, but he could see that she was still a very young woman. Her lovely, pale face flushed crimson in the cheeks and in her plump, pretty lips. And while her great doe eyes were not watching him, they captivated him with their beauty.

'Well, do my eyes fool me,' he crowed, a bit mischievously in his amazement, 'if that's not a fine heifer going by.' 

Deirdre, unaccustomed to such talk, was vexed but she was also intrigued. But neither anger nor interest could restrain her sharp wit and, although she didn't look at him, quick as a flash she answered with:  
"Tis easy for heifers to be fine and fair where there are no bulls.'

Now Naoise was captivated also. But he was no fool. Before she'd finished her answer, he suddenly sensed who she was, based on the stories he'd heard and, accordingly, he was chose his next words carefully.  
'You have your bull,' he said. 'The bull of the province of Ulster itself, King Conchobhar.' 

Deirdre had stopped walking, though she hadn't looked up at him directly yet, and she replied:  
'Perhaps I have, but I don't like him, for he's old and ugly and cross; had I the choice of the two of you, wouldn't I choose a fine young bull the like of yourself?'

And with that she looked directly into his eyes – her grey-green eyes gazed deep into his eyes, which were blue with flecks of hazel - and it was a long gaze. Deirdre was speechless now that she had seen his whole face clearly; Naoise was so beautiful to her, with eyes that were at once both fierce and tender. 

This gaze couldn't be said to be brazenness on Deirdre's part, for she had never been exposed to that kind of exchange since she had never met any men close to her age. She had spoken with honesty and Naoise could see her sincerity and he would be lying if he said that he did not find her enchanting, but he was still cautious. 

'There's Catha's prophecy,' he said, somewhat anxious.  
'Is it that you're trying to avoid me?' asked Deirdre, for she had never heard of such a prophecy and was perturbed by this.  
'No,' answered Naoise, "tis the prophecy of the druid.'  
'Are you rejecting me so?' she asked, still astonished.  
'Indeed, I am,' he said as delicately as he could, though there was no way for him to disguise the truth. 

Deirdre had never heard of Catha's prophecy. Since Leabharcham had told her about Naoise on that winter’s day and she learned the identity of this young man that who enchanted her in a joy she had never felt in her life, she knew that she had to meet him. And she felt hurt and angry like she had never felt. He was rejecting her. Tears stung her eyes and, in her confusion, she plucked a briar of wild roses with no concern at all for the thorns that pierced her hands and flung it at his head, crying: 

'Well, you're a disgrace if you reject me now!' 

Naoise ducked, laughing, in anxious but amused confusion. He had never seen anyone so beautiful (and because of he was already an accomplished warrior, Naoise was no novice in the matter of beautiful women), and he could see that she was as pure and as truthful as she was beautiful and intelligent, and he would be lying if he said that that combination did not move him. He could barely contain his amusement, for he found her endearing. But with the threat of the prophecy, how could he dissuade her? Raising his hands to protect himself as she fired more briars at him with the roses dangling from them, knowing well who she was, he cried: 

'Deirdre, Deirdre, 't isn't that I don't like you, but . . .' 

With that admission she ran up to him, half laughing and half crying, but a bit angry too. She took hold of his two ears in her hands and shook his head a little bit. 

'I'll tell you what you'll have if you leave me,' she said with mock seriousness, 'two ears of mockery and shame.' 

Naoise looked at her, seeming as grim as she seemed. But just under the surface, they were trying to contain their laughter. They did not fool each other and quickly laughed. Naoise could not help himself, he was smitten with her. Somehow, he knew that she was the right woman for him. He raised his hands to cover her own and said:  
'Let me go, wife!'  
And with that they were in each other’s arms, but only to bend away from the shoulders and smiling fondly at each other. Deirdre had never felt so light with joy; Naoise, the poignantly handsome youth of her vision, had accepted her as his wife and _she_ was in _his_ arms and _he_ was in _hers_. They seemed radiant to each other in their ecstasy. After a moment, Naoise disengaged himself and he took his harp, beginning to play a different mut that seemed to come from the depths of his heart; it was joyous and majestic and moving all at once. She sat with him, singing with him, their voices matched, high and pure notes ringing around them, until his brother came to find him. When Ainnle and Ardán learned who Deirdre was, they were horrified. And when Naoise told them that he would take her with him, whether they came with him or not, they thought that he had completely lost his mind – and perhaps he had somewhat. But, although they tried to persuade him, they could not change his mind. Naoise was in love with this maiden. He had given his heart and he was adamant. “Well, I see that you won’t change your mind on this, Naoise,” said Ardán, whose eyes were still wary, “I know that you understand this choice. I understand it. But you are my brother.” “I love you, Naoise,” said Ainnle, who was hardly older than Deirdre, “‘I don’t care what we must do. Is she is our sister, so be it.” Although Ainnle knew enough to understand the gravity, he was still young and somewhat naïve. He took a quick liking to Deirdre with her quick wit and her sincerity, and it was clear that Ardán was accepting her as a friend. “So be it, indeed. It’s my brother that you are and I am not about to leave you.” “I’m not either,” agreed Ainnle. Naoise embraced his two brothers, joy spreading across his face, “Welcome your sister-in-law!” All this left Deirdre speechless. Trembling with overjoyed tears blurring her vision, she kissed them all happily, a kiss each for Ainnle and Ardán, and three kisses for Naoise. Her first kiss with Naoise was somewhat clumsy, but she shivered with an ecstatic thrill that she had never felt. She and Naoise giggled shyly, feeling that they would burst with glee. Deirdre felt warm and cold at the same time, shivering with joy against Naoise and they blushed redder. “Come,” said Naoise, “We must leave.” “Yes!” agreed Dèirdre, “Before anyone becomes suspicious.” 


End file.
